


A Little Tied Up

by GraduateGraduate



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Office, Anal, BDSM Scene, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Boss!Dean, Bottom!Cas, Bottoming from the Top, Cas Takes His Job VERY Seriously, Choking, Dom!Cas, Fingering, Fucked Over a Desk, M/M, NSFW, NSFW While at Work, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Power Bottom, Rimming, Safewords, Secretary!Cas, Stress Relief at Work, Sub!Dean, Taking Phone Calls While Getting Fucked, The Uge, Tied to an Office Chair, Tied-Up Dean, Top!Cas, Topping from the Bottom, bottom!Dean, safe sex, switch!cas, switch!dean, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-12
Updated: 2016-02-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:18:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5983993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraduateGraduate/pseuds/GraduateGraduate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has a coffee-stained suit, several headaches, and a phone that will <i>not</i> stop ringing.  He calls his secretary, Castiel, into his office for some assistance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Little Tied Up

**Author's Note:**

> So last week Shennanigoats texted me to say that she'd called a customer who had told her [he] couldn't talk right now, [he was] a little tied up. So we spent a little while trading blips of Destiel headcanons about sex at work that would lead to someone having to say they couldn't talk, they were a little tied up, and then we decided we had to write them.
> 
> So this is my contribution.

* 

Dean was having a _day_. It had felt like any other day when his alarm had buzzed to life and his feet had hit the cold hardwood on his way to the shower. But the hot water had suddenly died somewhere between him lathering shampoo through his hair and even beginning to become acquainted with the bar of soap. The water had gone from luxuriously hot straight past lukewarm to shrinkage-causing cold, and Dean had rushed, jaw clenched, to quickly pass soap over every inch of himself and even more quickly rinse himself clean so he could escape the icy assault. Once he’d finally pulled on his suit, complete with suspenders and his favorite tie, he was feeling better. And by the time he had his hand around a fresh cup of coffee poured by his favorite barista, his mood was back on track. He took a deep inhale of the heavenly liquid before a quick swallow of the still-too-hot elixir and was letting the caffeine-calm settle over him when some guy in a red tie knocked into him and sent his coffee cascading all down his front with an accented, _Watch where you’re going, fairy._ Dean was too stunned to even retort, and was a little preoccupied with the state of his suit. He’d managed to sop up most of it with paper napkins, and Charlie had replaced his drink without any hesitation, but he was feeling angry and bitter by the time he made it to the office. Now his phone is ringing non-stop. His clients today are idiots; they’ve given him at least twelve headaches, and it’s not even lunch time yet.

Dean hangs up the phone after being yelled at by an exceptionally angry man with quite the vocabulary. He pinches the bridge of his nose and wills the throbbing behind his eyes to calm. It doesn’t. He steps from behind his desk to pull the blinds of his office closed and dims the lights. He lets his gaze fall over the form of his secretary, sitting straight-backed at his desk. The collar of his white shirt is unbuttoned a little further than is normally deemed business appropriate. And he’s _wearing_ a tie, but it’s done up loose and flipped over backwards. There’s something insanely attractive about the disheveled appearance of this well-postured, highly organized and disciplined man, and Dean can’t help the dart of his tongue against his lips before he closes his office door.

Dean settles back into his chair. It’s a stiff, wooden thing with heavy arms and legs. It’s large and old fashioned looking. Not the most comfortable chair, and certainly not ergonomic, but it isn’t meant to be. As the head of his department this is where he sits to hire, review, reprimand, and in unfortunate cases, fire his people. It’s also where he represents the company to customers who have insisted on climbing the _let-me-speak-to-your-manager_ tree, and they also need to be handled with a firm hand. A chair that demands attention and commands good posture is the right place for Dean to work from. But right now he wants a nap, three tylenols, and to set his phone to silent and sink into a soft sofa.

 His phone rings again. He scrubs his hand down his face before picking up, “Dean Winchester speaking.” A lady is complaining that the employee who helped her with her IT issues was rude and condescending. This isn’t the first complaint he’s received about Sam. Dean makes a mental note to talk to the kid. He realizes there aren’t many ways to ask someone to try restarting their computer before turning to frustration, and Sam seems bored and disengaged at the best of times.

She’s screeching now. “He just kept repeating that I needed to turn it off and on again! What help is IT if they’re not going to DO anything?!”

Dean pinches his nose again. “Well, did you?”

He pulls the receiver away from his ear as she screeches at him. He’s relieved to find out she’s hung up by the time he returns it to his ear. He doesn’t bother returning the receiver to the phone cradle, just presses the switch hook and calls his secretary on the intercom.

“Cas, can I see you in my office please? Forward your calls to my phone.” Dean’s exhausted and worn thin but he refuses to let that translate over the line. He forces his voice low and steady; full of a mock-strength he doesn’t feel.

Castiel’s reply comes loose and easy. “Yes, sir.” Dean can hear the scrape of his chair against the floor after the line disconnects and a short knock at his door announces his arrival before he peeks his head around the side of it. “Sir?” He shuffles into the office and closes the door gently behind him.

Dean lets the fact that he’s at the end of his rope show on his face, though in honesty he’s not sure hiding it is a current possibility. “I’ve got an important errand I need run.”

The shift of energy in the room is immediate. Cas stands taller, sharper. He’s at Dean’s side in two easy strides, tie slipped easily over his head. Dean grips the arms of his chair; partially because it’s what’s expected of him and partially to keep his hands from shaking visibly. Cas wordlessly binds Dean’s left wrist to the chair, tie wrapped over and over until a comfortable cuff has been formed and knotted in place. His hands go to Dean’s throat, carefully loosening Dean’s tie and repeating the bind on Dean’s free hand.

Cas fiddles with his restraints, makes sure a finger can fit comfortably between Dean’s skin and the fabric before turning his gaze to Dean, a single eyebrow raised in question. Dean fights to meet his eyes and nods. If Cas doesn’t get direct eye contact and a clear nod nothing else happens. He doesn’t have to hold the gaze of Cas’ scrutiny long. As soon as Cas has his signal, he’s brushing soft, gentle kisses against Dean’s lips.

The minimal contact is enough to pull a soft moan from Dean. He can feel his stress start to physically melt from his bones as Cas’ mouth moves against his. Cas places his fingers along the side of Dean’s neck, hand wrapped gently over his Adam’s apple, thumb barely grazing the other side, as his tongue teases along Dean’s bottom lip. Dean hadn’t even realized he needed this, Cas’ hand around his throat. But now that he has it, he needs more. He leans into it, pressing his skin to Cas’ palm until his tension has two points to bleed from: mouth and neck. 

Dean’s jolted back to reality when the phone rings. The noise is sharp and unwelcome. Cas reaches across him to answer it, “Mullen and Cain, Castiel speaking.” His voice is bright and cheery and Dean doesn’t know how he puts on that front every day. “Hold please, I’ll transfer you.”

Cas holds the phone to Dean’s ear. Dean forgets to speak at first. It takes an exaggerated eyebrow raise from Cas for him to remember himself. “Dean Winchester speaking. 

Dean’s eyebrows crawl up his forehead as Cas single-handedly unbuttons the top of his pants while he’s dealing with the call. “Yes, that’s a great idea, Victor. I’ll be sure to mention it to upper management at our meeting next week.” He swallows hard as Cas palms at his dick through his slacks. Once he’s sure Victor’s hung up Dean hisses out an exhale. “Fuck, Cas. Could you not? 

Cas replaces the receiver. “Dean, I’m your secretary.” Cas is digging around in one of Dean’s drawers for his headset. “Everything I do boils down to one job and one job only. Make sure you get your work done and done well. So while it is _incredibly_ evident that the quality of your work is dependent on you relieving some of the stress that’s eating at you, I wouldn’t be doing my job if I let you stop doing yours. So I’m going to drain every last bit of tension from you, and I’m going to answer your calls at the same damn time.”

“Dammit Cas, you take your job too seriously.” Dean’s cut off by Cas picking up the receiver again and cradling it between his cheek and shoulder as he greets the caller. He fits the headset in place over Dean’s ear as he offers to transfer the call. With the press of a button, Dean’s headset crackles to life.

“Dean Winchester speaking.”

*

Dean makes it through the next three calls, all back to back in quick succession, without any trouble. Cas isn’t being too distracting, just pressing kisses to his neck as Dean answers questions and assures angry customers that their complaints will receive appropriate follow-up.

“Thank you for bringing it to my attention,” Dean says to close another call.

The moment he’s done, Cas’ mouth is on his. He wastes no time tangling their tongues together as his fingers head south. He traces the outline of Dean through his slacks before reaching beneath the waistband of Dean’s briefs to pull him free. He barely closes his hand around Dean, pulling gently. Too gently.

“Fuck, Cas,” Dean breathes his name like a prayer, willing him to tighten his grip and give him the contact his body is craving.

His phone rings again. Cas picks up the receiver. “Mullen and Cain, Castiel speaking.” Cas doesn’t stop working Dean’s length while he talks. “Hi Alistair. No, I’m afraid Dean can’t talk right now, he’s a little tied up at the moment.”

Dean’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head as he chokes at Cas’ words. He stutters as Cas replaces the receiver. “W-what the _fuck_ , Cas!”

“Oh, Dean. I always tell him that. You haven’t noticed you never get ambushed by his calls? You always call him on your terms and your schedule? That’s not an accident. You’re ‘tied up’ a _lot_.”

Dean actually can’t remember the last time Alistair had phoned him while he was in his office. Cas always handed him a note saying Alistair was expecting a call back when he headed past his desk on the way back from the washroom or some other expedition from his office. The last time has to have been before Cas, when he’d had a less-than subpar secretary.

All he can manage is, an “Oh,” that turns into a startled groan as Cas sinks down onto his knees and wraps smirking lips around him.

Dean is fighting the pleasure coiling in the pit of his stomach. He clenches and unclenches his hands, gripping and releasing the hard wooden arm of his chair. The phone is blessedly quiet, but he knows it can’t last and he doesn’t want to be anywhere near the edge when the next call comes. 

But he’s losing track of time and it’s been whole minutes, maybe even a full 10 of them, since the phone rang last. He starts to let himself forget that he’s sitting in his office and just focuses on the feeling of Cas’ mouth on him.

Cas’ tongue is running the length of him, expertly dipping into his slit to collect the precome that gathers there with every bob of his head. Dean’s head lolls back, his jaw falls open and he lets his pleasure cradle him, building and coiling in response to Cas’ every move. “Fuck, Caaas,” Dean can’t help the way his name falls out of his mouth, voice full of lust and on the edge of ruin. “I’m so close.”

Cas slowly drags his tongue base to tip one last time before pulling off of him with an exaggerated pop. Dean releases a frustrated huff of breath but utters no verbal complaint. Cas never fails to take care of him and it’s always better than it would have been if he’d just done what Dean wanted.

So he lets him do his thing. He watches with bated breath as Cas stands back and starts to unbutton his own shirt. His top two buttons are never done up, so he starts at his collarbone and ever so slowly moves easy, languid fingers down the front of his shirt until it falls open. He brings the tips of his fingers back up to trace down his own sternum. They wander down along one tight pec to pinch and rub at a pert nipple before continuing further south.

Dean’s panting lightly in his binds, unblinking eyes following every one of Cas’ movements. The way his breath huffs out of him when his fingertips graze his nipple, the way his brows furrow in concentration at his pleasure, his head tipping back ever so slightly even though his eyes never leave Dean’s. Dean’s gaze follows Cas’ fingers lower and he has to grip the chair to suppress the itch of his fingers, wanting to be freed to run through the patch of dark curls under Cas’ navel. Dean’s eyes flit down to the outline of Cas pressing firmly against the front of his pants. Cas flicks the button of his slacks open and slips his hand in the waistband, palming himself firmly before slipping his slacks and briefs down in one movement.

Dean’s eyes follow Cas’ bobbing tip as it bounces and sways before him. He licks his lips involuntarily. If he weren’t tied to his chair he’d have Cas pinned against his desk, mouth wrapped around the girth of his cock, fingertips digging into the globes of his ass faster than he can say _pecan pie_. 

As Cas plays with himself, one hand gently stroking his length, the other teasing a nipple, Dean remembers the first time he’d met Cas. He’d had a couple whiskeys more than the daily recommendation at one of the less well-known gay bars in town. His eyes had met the deep blue of a stranger’s across the room and he doesn’t remember the series of events that led to Dean on his knees in a bathroom stall swallowing him down. No names or numbers had been exchanged, so Dean was caught completely off guard when the blue-eyed beauty had walked into his office for his interview on Monday morning. Dean had considered telling him the position had already been filled, but he’d been the top applicant and had an energy to him that Dean couldn’t get enough of. When he asked Cas if he had any questions about the position he’d answered, “If I wanted to repay you for the weekend sometime, would we have to report that to HR?”

Dean’s brought back to the present moment as Cas sways over to him, shrugging his shirt to the floor as he goes, and presses a soft chaste kiss to his lips. “You’re going to work me open so I can fuck myself on your gorgeous cock.” Cas’ voice is deep and thick with lust.

Dean just wants to touch Cas, wants to get his hands on him, and since that’s not a possibility he wants to run his tongue over every inch of skin Cas will allow him. So when Cas positions himself in front of him, straddling Dean’s thighs, hands braced on the desk, hips high in the air, Dean doesn’t hesitate to lean forward and run his tongue along the length of Cas’ crevice.

His small, breathy moans spur Dean on. Dean ignores the discomfort in his neck as he cranes forward to press the flat of his tongue against Cas’ entrance. He can feel the flutter of the muscle against his mouth, and he takes his sweet time teasing Cas with tiny kitten licks across his hole before he lets the tip of his tongue breach him. Cas huffs out a groan as Dean starts to slowly swirl his tongue along the inside edge of him, willing him to relax with every swipe.

He alternates nibbling at Cas’ rim, the way he knows he likes, with working his tongue in and around as deep as he can get it until Cas is panting heavily and his legs are shaking with the effort of holding himself up for Dean. Cas sits up suddenly and leans down to dig through Dean’s bottom drawer for the condoms and lube he keeps at the back. He tears one open and rolls it down Dean’s length, slicking Dean up before turning around to face him as he presses the tip of Dean’s cock to his entrance and starts to ease himself onto him. 

Dean doesn’t question if he’s worked Cas open enough for him to be attempting this. He knows all too well that Cas likes the burning sensation that accompanies the slow stretch of moving straight from Dean’s tongue to his cock, and Dean loves the look of ecstasy that stretches across his face too much to argue. Besides, he’s not in control right now, so he’s not in danger of accidentally hurting Cas.

Cas sets the pace, slow and gentle, bobbing lightly on the very tip of Dean’s cock for a few moments before sinking down a little further. Cas’ head is tipped back, brows furrowed in concentration, eyes clenched tight, little beads of sweat gathering along his hairline. Dean wants to lean forward, to press kisses to the spaces at the corner of his eyes that crinkle when he smiles, to lick the sweat from his brow. But he’s bound and Cas is focusing hard on not moving too far too fast, so he doesn’t dare shift his weight in the chair to bring his lips to Cas’ cheek.

It feels like it takes forever, but Cas eventually sinks all the way down Dean’s length and settles into his lap with a breathy moan and a small smile. His brows unknit, and the look on his face goes straight to Dean’s heart. Dean waits until Cas starts to rock himself against him gently before he finally leans forward to find Cas’ lips with his own.

It’s like Cas had forgotten he was there until he tasted him again. But once their mouths are laced together, tongues intertwined, Cas’ hands are on his shoulders, gently around his neck, cupping his cheeks, pulling tightly at his hair, and every new place Cas graces with his touch pulls a different sound from Dean. Dean’s overwhelmed with sensation as Cas tugs on handfuls of hair while chewing gently on his lower lip and rocking back and forth with fervor. Cas is so hot and tight around him, and Dean’s not sure how long he can last, even though Cas is only making the slightest movements around him.

Dean releases a small whimper, “Cas. Cas, stop, I’m close.”

He can see from the way Cas’ eyebrows twitch that Cas doesn’t want to stop, but he does. He stays perfectly still in Dean’s lap and even pulls his lips away from Dean’s, breaking all contact for a moment.

Dean pants gently, trying to get control over himself. Cas is fluttering involuntarily around him and even that little shift of friction is enough to keep his desire coiling. He opens his eyes and his office comes back into focus. He’d nearly forgotten he was at work. He realizes his phone hasn’t rang in an eternity.

“Cas, the calls. Why’d they stop?”

Cas chuckles, a deep, throaty, gravelly noise. “Calls go directly to my voicemail over lunch.” He presses a soft kiss to Dean’s neck. “I might have taken the liberty of extending my lunch break by fifteen minutes when I saw you draw your blinds.”

Dean smiles. Cas always reads him so well. “Thank you,” he whispers. He leans forward to find his mouth again.

It feels like several lifetimes pass them by, tongue against tongue, breathing the same breath, before Cas slowly begins to rock down against Dean’s hips again, slow circles that punch the air from Dean’s lungs. Dean can feel the heat coiling and building in him and he’s panting gently into Cas’ mouth, his stress and frustration ebbing from him with every one of Cas’ movements.

He’s so close. So so close. “Cas,” Dean pants, “Cas, can I come? Please can I come? 

Cas gives a low chuckle. Dean knows how much he likes to hear him beg for it, so he expects to be told to ask real nice for it. He’s surprised when the words that follow are, “Yeah, Dean. Anytime you’re ready.” 

He’s ready. He’s ready to give himself over to Cas, to let the cascade of pleasure flow over him in waves, when the phone rings.

It’s sudden and shrill and it tears right through Dean’s focus and the orgasm he was on the edge of tipping over and basking in is ripped away from him.

“Fuck!” Dean’s frustration is tripled as he hovers on _just_ this side of relief.

Cas chuckles into his hair, presses a kiss to Dean’s forehead before resting his own where his lips had been. “Sorry, I guess lunch is over.” 

Dean tips his head back and releases an exasperated sigh at the ceiling as Cas dismounts. He isn’t left waiting for long. Cas sinks back down his length and grabs the phone after the fifth ring, just before it goes to voicemail.

“Mullen and Cain, Castiel speaking.”

Dean doesn’t know how Cas keeps his voice entirely steady with the length of him filling him up. He’s not sitting still either, he’s rolling slow circles with his hips that are _this close_ to pulling a high-pitched whine from the back of Dean’s throat, but he swallows the sound and tries to stay silent while Cas takes the call.

“Dean’s in a meeting right now, but I’ll have him call you back just as soon as he’s free.” Cas exchanges a few more pleasantries before hanging up the phone.

“Who was that?” Dean asks just as Cas starts to raise and lower himself over the length of him. It causes the end of Dean’s sentence to fall out in a rush of breath as he grips the arms of the chair _hard_ and can feel his toes curling in his shoes.

The smirk plastered across Cas’ face is audible in his voice. “Your mother.”

“Christ. Thanks for not just putting her through,” Dean exhales as he stares at the ceiling, trying to keep himself pulled together. “What did she want?”

“You and that _girlfriend_ you’ve been hiding away from her are invited to visit this weekend.” The emphasis Cas puts on the word doesn’t escape Dean but he doesn’t have the brain power to analyze it or worry about it right now. Cas is fucking himself on Dean in earnest and it’s taking every ounce of focus Dean has to hold himself from spilling over the edge before Cas tells him he can.

But before Dean can ask for permission the phone rings again. Dean’s not sure if he’s imagining it, but it sounds even more shrill and abrasive than usual.

“Mullen and Cain, Castiel speaking. 

Cas doesn’t slow a touch. Dean marvels at his composure while desperately trying to keep himself from coming apart at the seams beneath him. If only his hands weren’t attached to this damn chair he could grab Cas’ hips and slow his movements until he could gain control over the volcano threatening to boil over within him.

“Sure, when is convenient for you?” Cas asks. His voice is level professionalism, and he’s clicking through Dean’s computer, pulling up his schedule while continuing to bounce on his dick. “Sure, he has time next Wednesday at 2. Great. He’ll see you then.” Cas props the phone between his ear and his shoulder as he creates a new event in Dean’s calendar. When he’s done he replaces the phone.

The moment it’s back in its cradle, Dean opens his mouth to release a ragged breath, but it’s followed by a long stream of nearly incomprehensible words jumbled between small wrecked noises.

“What was that, Dean?” Cas chuckles low in the back of his throat as he continues to ride Dean at a merciless pace.

Dean swallows hard, brain drowning in sensation, searching for the words he needs for release and clinging to the only one he can find. “Please.” It comes out forced but breathy. Weak and wrecked. “Please, please, please, please, please, please,” once he’s started he can’t stop. His mouth runs off without him, head tilted back, eyes clenched tight, barely holding himself together as Cas, hot and tight, falls back down on him over and over. 

“Please _what_ , Dean?” There’s a tinge of a cruel grin in Cas’ voice, and he seems to _speed up_ , an option Dean wouldn’t have even thought possible.

He can’t find any other words to add to his plea. “Please,” the word gets breathier. Needier. More desperate. “Please,” his voice cracks in the middle and if he’s not allowed over the edge soon he’s sure he’s going to shatter in to a million pieces.

“Yeah, Dean. You can come,” Cas whispers. He holds his pace, somewhere between breakneck and soul crushing, as Dean lets go.

Dean doesn’t know what brings him more relief: the pleasure that washes over him in crashing waves as he quits teetering on the edge, or the fact that the _fucking phone didn’t ring_ while he did.

He’s panting as Cas finally slows to a gentle rock. He’s just about to let out a choked, overstimulated cry when Cas finally stills and pulls off. He deals with Dean’s condom before wiping the sweat from his brow and untying his hands.

Dean moves to touch Cas’ hips, to pull him in for a kiss, but before he can get a single fingertip on Cas’ skin, Cas has both his wrists held firmly in one hand.

“Oh, Dean,” Cas laughs, a sly smile working its way across his face. “You’re not out of the woods yet.” Cas makes easy work of securing Dean’s wrists together with one of the ties. He clears some space at the edge of Dean’s desk and shuffles around it, Dean’s wrists still in hand. He gives a sharp tug and Dean has no choice but to step towards the desk. Cas guides his arms and chest into the space he’s cleared, and fastens the cuff restraining Dean’s hands to the leg of the desk with the remaining tie. As soon as Dean’s bent over the desk, hips high in the air, chest pressed to hard wood, he can feel his dick twitching with renewed interest.

He can hear Cas digging around in the desk again, readying a fresh condom and finding the lube. And then Cas is behind him, releasing Dean’s suspenders and pulling his pants down to his thighs. A slow hand traces up Dean’s spine, pausing at the nape of his neck to pull gently at his hair before rubbing soothing circles into his skin.

“You have a choice, Dean.”

Dean’s ears perk at the offer. These choices are rarely kind. More often than not it’s a decision between two methods of torture.

“Do you want me to work you open with my fingers or my tongue?” 

Dean can feel the tiniest blush set his face on fire. Maybe he was wrong. Today’s choice is a blessing. He doesn’t even know why he’s being _given_ a choice when the answer is so obvious.

“ _But_ ,” Cas continues before Dean can answer, “If you choose tongue, you’ll have to answer the phone for me.”

There it is.

There’s a litany of curses and names he’d like to call Cas held just behind his teeth, but he swallows them down. “Tongue.” The word comes out choked. He’ll do anything to get Cas’ mouth on him. If he has to play receptionist for a bit, so be it.

“You got it,” Cas lets his fingers trace down Dean’s spine, dipping with the curve of it at his lower back, before running between his cheeks. Dean shivers at the brief, barely-there contact at his entrance.

Cas moves the phone so he can reach it easily from the floor before kneeling behind Dean. He peppers Dean’s cheeks with kisses before ghosting his tongue between them. Just as he presses Dean’s cheeks apart with firm hands and licks languidly across Dean’s tight, fluttering hole, the phone rings.

Dean curses audibly. It draws a laugh from Cas that’s something between a chuckle and a cackle. Cas forwards the call to Dean’s headset without removing his tongue from Dean’s skin.

Dean doesn’t know how he’s going to open his mouth to speak and not release the high pitched moan building at the back of his throat. But somehow he manages it. “Dean Winchester speaking.”

“Dean? Did I get the wrong number again? I thought I had the extension right this time. So sorry, let me try again.” Before he can get a word in edgewise, the call’s been ended.

“Caaas,” Dean draws his name out in a long whine, “It’s for you. She’s going to call back. Just let it go to voicemail.” Dean’s panting. Cas has worked the tip of his tongue past Dean’s rim and is alternating between licking slow circles around the external edge and swirling his tongue inside him.

Not a moment later, the phone rings again. Cas pushes it through to Dean.

Dean can’t even twist back to glare at Cas. He gives his own wrists the dirtiest look. “Dean Winchester speaking.”

“Dean? Oh, I’m so sorry. I did it again!”

“It’s okay!” The words come out of Dean at a near-shout as Cas works a finger in with his tongue. “Cas went home early.” He prays the woman on the other end of the call can’t hear how breathless he is.

“Oh, I’ll try him at home. He was supposed to meet me for lunch today. I just wanted to make sure he’s okay.”

A guilty blush spreads across Dean’s face. “Well don’t be surprised if he doesn’t pick up.” Cas adds another finger. “He wasn’t well at all when he left. Nasty bug.” Dean chokes on the word _bug_ as Cas crooks his fingers, sending a jolt of electricity up his spine. He covers it with a cough.

“Oh! I hope he didn’t give it to you too!”

“No, no,” Dean just wants her off the phone so he can release even a single one of the sounds trapped in his chest. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Mercifully she wishes him a good day and finally hangs up. As soon as Dean hears the line go dead, he lets out a long unhindered groan.

“You missed lunch with your sister,” Dean whispers between grit teeth.

Cas quits teasing the edge of his rim with his tongue long enough to reply. “Had to work over lunch. So _overwhelmed_ with work I didn’t have a chance to call her. She’d understand, but I appreciate that you covered for me.”

Dean moans as Cas redoubles his efforts. He’s stretching him open with two fingers and nibbling at his rim when the phone rings again.

“Dean Winchester speaking,” his voice cracks in the middle of his name, and he coughs to cover it up.

“Hi, I’m looking for Dean Winchester?”

Oh goodie. This is going to be one of those customers that causes a headache to build right behind his eyes. Fantastic.

“Speaking.”

Dean doesn’t listen to what her actual complaint is. He hums at appropriate moments to show he’s listening and prays they come out sounding closer to _mhmms_ than moans. And after Cas has lined himself up and slid home, he hopes to high heaven that his _I’m listening_ sounds pass as _uh-huhs_ rather than the _unh-unh-unhs_ they are. 

When she finally stops talking Dean lets dead air hang between them for a moment before he realizes he’s supposed to say something. “Sorry about that. Thank you for bringing it to my attention. I’ll make sure your customer service representative is disciplined appropriately.” He hopes that’s enough to quell her.

“Oh.” She sounds genuinely surprised by his response. “Thank you.” And with a click she’s gone.

“ _Fuck,_ Cas,” Dean exhales heavy. It’s a mixture of frustrated sigh and pleasured moan. He pulls on his bonds as much as he can, pushing back against Cas.

Cas grabs Dean’s hips and changes the angle just enough that every. single. thrust. hits that sweet spot inside him. Dean’s not sure if he’s going to explode or implode. What he does know is if that goddamn phone rings again he’s going to cry. 

Several tense moments pass where the only sounds in the office are the slap of skin against skin and the little noises being pulled from the two of them. Dean can feel his orgasm building again. He’s itching for Cas’ hand to wrap around him, to stroke him in time and help him through it but his fingers seem to be at home digging into his sides. In any case, he’s certain that if Cas keeps this up he’ll come untouched, he’s just dying for the friction. 

He’s hovering right on the edge again, that sweet spot between housing pent up energy stuffed into a body twelve times too small to contain it, and overflowing bliss. He pulls on his wrists to drag his attention up long enough for his brain to string together the words Cas needs from him. 

“Cas, please, I’m gonna- I mean- May I, please Cas, _fuck Cas, please."_

“God, Dean,” Cas sounds as wrecked as Dean feels. He reaches down and grabs Dean by a handful of hair at the top of his head and yanks him up so his neck and back are arched at an awkward angle. It makes it twice as hard for Dean to control himself. “I love it when you beg.”

“Please, Cas, please. Please, I fucking need-”

Dean’s interrupted by the phone.

“Fucking HELL!” Dean shouts. He’s loud enough that he’d be surprised if the employees with cubicles outside his office didn’t hear him.

Cas laughs, rough and low. To Dean’s surprise the phone continues to ring. He swears to a god he doesn’t believe in that if Cas has the nerve to put him on the line just as he comes he’ll fire him. Twice.

Cas gives a sharp tug on Dean’s hair, “I said I _love hearing you beg,”_ he repeats darkly.

At his words Dean tunes out the sound of the phone. He opens his mouth and lets loose a litany of pleas. “Cas, fuck, please Cas, please let me come, please, I fucking feel so good, please please please please please.”

“Not yet,” Cas warns.

Dean’s going to die soon, he’s sure of it. He doesn’t know how much longer he can hold off for, and if he doesn’t die from waiting he’ll die when Cas punishes him for coming early. The last time he came early Cas had edged him _fifteen_ times before letting him come; once for every second Dean hadn’t waited. Dean had been a puddle of come and tears by the time Cas had been done with him. Dean knows Cas has a countdown going and he just has to wait it out. Just has to last as long as Cas knows he can.

The call finally goes to voicemail and the sudden quiet of the phone soothes Dean’s rough edges. He’s able to focus better without the shrill interruption, but he’s still so close to spilling over that he’s certain he’s not going to make it.

Cas moves his grip so he’s holding Dean’s head up by his throat instead of his hair. Dean relishes in the feeling of Cas’ fingers pressing into his Adam’s apple, but being choked like this pushes him even closer to the edge and he can’t hold on, he’s going to fucking come and Cas is going to punish him for it.

Cas reaches his other hand around Dean’s waist to grab hold of Dean’s leaking cock. It’s the friction Dean was dying for and it’s a lucky thing it’s accompanied by a low growl of “Dean, _come_ ,” because there’s nothing he can do to stop the tsunami of pleasure that rips through him.

Dean’s panting hard despite the hand on his throat. His whole body trembles as Cas milks every last drop from him. He can feel Cas’ rhythm falter, his hips slow and stutter with a drawn out groan. Cas collapses on top of him, peppering his back and shoulders with kisses.

“So good, Dean. So good for me.” Cas’ praise makes Dean blush from head to toe. He’s not actually sure he deserves it; he less came when told and more failed at exactly the right moment, but he’s too boneless to argue.

Cas gently pulls himself from Dean. He tidies himself up and dresses himself before cleaning Dean up, tucking him back into his pants, and untying him. He helps Dean sit back in his chair, checks his wrists, refastens his suspenders, and ties his tie back in place before tying his own tie loosely around his own neck.

“Is there anything else you need?” Cas asks as he straightens Dean’s tie.

Dean shakes his head. His headache is gone, and while he feels boneless and like he could sleep for a week, he also feels rejuvenated and like he could have the most productive afternoon of his life. “Nah, I’m good. Thank you. What time is it?”

Cas checks his watch. “Nearly two.”

Three hours. That’s enough time for Dean to finish dealing with the paperwork on his desk before quitting time. He puts on the straightest face he can manage, “Don’t you have some work to do?”

In a breath, Cas is nothing but stoic professionalism. “Yes, sir.” He smooths down his shirt and tie, and exits Dean’s office, closing the door behind him.

*

At exactly 5:01pm there’s a gentle knock on Dean’s door.

“Come in,” he calls. He’s got two last files on his desk. He’d have finished them already if he hadn’t been stuck on the phone with Alistair for so damn long. That man sure knows how to deliver a two-sentence thought in twelve. 

Cas pokes his head around the door. “You almost done?”

“Nearly,” Dean looks up from his work. “You go on without me. I won’t be longer than half-an-hour.”

“Okay,” Cas smiles. “I’ll see you at home.” He disappears around the frame of the door, just to reappear a moment later. “And for god’s sake, call your mom back and let her know we’ll visit this weekend. Or at least explain to her that you’re not dating a _Cassandra_.”

Dean laughs. Cas is right, it’s long past time they made the trip across state to meet the parents. “You got it, Cas.”

**Author's Note:**

> Big thanks again to Shennanigoats for the prompt and for betaing my work!
> 
> Safety Shit:
> 
> There's no explicit Safeword, but if anyone had called "Red" at anytime, the scene would have stopped.
> 
> They have pre-established coded sentences that pass power back and forth. _I’ve got an important errand I need run_ starts the scene and puts Cas in control. _Don't you have some work to do?_ closes the scene and puts Dean back in the driver seat.
> 
> And finally, be super careful if you're using ties for bondage. Ties, silk ties especially, have a tendency to slip tight and can get really difficult to untie again. Always have safety shears on hand just in case.
> 
> Please check out the Sister Fic: Shennanigoats' take on the prompt is [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5983456).
> 
> And as always, you can come yell at me on [tumblr](http://graduategraduate.tumblr.com)!


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